Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1887-03-07
THE STEWART PICTURES.
New York Wild Over the Displays of
Art and Dresses

has at least turned democratic. Who
goes to see the Stewart collection :
Everybody goes and goes again, my
masters.
One might think the city had turned FOL
the minute picture mad. The rush to the
| galleries of the American Art Associa-
ton continues as great as it was on the
first day OF the ten the poor lonely old
woman's paintings have been on exhIbi-
ton. To see the throng Of miscellaneous
| humanity, filing in at the Twenty third
street entrance and out again at Twenty
| second street at certain hours of the day.
affords as good an opportunity as one
often gets to study the city and it's in.
habItants. The dainty kid boot climbs
the stairs step by step with the shoe thai
Is only half-buttoned and orusted with
! the mud OF the street. The oonnUisseul
! of Titians and RemDrandts and Hobbe.
mas levels her lorgnette side by side with
The still faithful devotee OF the chrome
and the almost extinct admIrer of cot.
! tage art. Everybody that can raise the
| price OF admission is paying it out for a
| peep between the heads Of his crowdine
! neighbors. They are all decorous, all well
bred, they all have eager, curious eyes.
Do they all care for the pictures? Is
show in this good city Of ours? Mrs.
Mary Jane Morgan's house was sold un.
der the hammer last week, and the Real
Estate Exchange was turned into a
bear garden. Was that art? 1t was the
fame of the mothe pearl and onyx bath
tub; not for the beauty of it., but for the
extravaganza and the oddly OF it. Her
statuary and bric-a-brac were disposed OF
Thursday and the crowd was on hand
~ in q ~ 4 Il
them! 1t was the renown OF the peach
blow vase and the eccentricities of the
woman that owned 1t.
The Stewart collection is notable one
beyond doubt, few more 80 have been
seen In New York of late years. But it
is the dead widow of A. T. Stewart and
her millions, not her pictures, that call
out at least share of the throng. AS /
entered the art rooms on one Of the first
mornings OF the exhibition Mrs. Garfield
and her daughter Mollie stood before the
immense "Horse Fair" of Rosa Bonheur,
and general attention was pretty evenly
divided between her quiet unconscious
figure, the paintings on the walls and gos-
sip about their late owner, the woman
who cared for none of them.
''rhere isn't picture here that has
been added since Stewart died." said an
artist to his companion, as he pushed by
me, catalogue in hand, pencil between
his thin, looking fingers. 'Do
you see there is nothing by Corot, Millet,
DIaz, Rousseau, FrOmentin, Jules Dupre
or Jules Breton. don't believe she ever
bought so much as sketch for the lot !"
and their voices were lost as the crowd
swallowed them up.
''They say she didn't like pictures;"
this from fresh-cheeked, tailor made
damsel with gorgeous crimson and yell
low tulip In her buttonhole; "they say
she never went into the gallery in that
Fifth avenue marble dungeon of hers
unless it rained and she could find no
place else to exercise in. l know women
who say they have seen her again and
again pacing up and down the floor, q
shawl over her head and her eyes cast
down never looking once at an ancient or
a modern master OF them all. Some of
them, folks say, she fairly hated, and
would turn her back on when she hap
pened to glance at the wall where they
hung; that Meissonier now, Pve heard,
was her bette noir," ana the gossiper
honor in the large gallery, and is conf
IDENTITY expected to bring a larger price
than was ever paid for any picture before
at public or private sale IN, this country.
''They say she disllked that above all
things else in the house, had grudge
against 1t that had lasted for years. and
next 1t she had horror of the statuary.
She wrapped a rug about that bit
Of marble one day because it looked
so cold to her, as she sat in front
of it. Poor old soul, don't fret so much
about wanting to be rich when 1 think Of
her."
stayed half an hour perhaps, and dur
ing all that time as l threaded my way in
and out among the groups about the pic
lures heard now a word for Meissonier's
horses, the most gallant steeds surely
that any living master of the brush has
painted; an appreoiative comment on
Fortuny's "Snake Charmers," the most
notable bit of that painters work that the
country has yet received, and ever and
anon world OF rumOr and surmise about
the last years Of the woman OF SO, over
whose unused and to her useless dollars
her heirs are heating their tempers, now
that she is IN her grave.
MRS. STEWARDS DRESSES.
"Have you seen the dresses?' was the
last query that found its way to my ears
as turned to descend the stairs, and q
couple of diamond earrings shot sparks
into my eyes as a vIvacious little head
turned this wav and that in the eagerness
of speech. 81 begged papa to get me a
chance the very day it was known they
were to be sold. such heaps and heaps
of things you never dreamed Of. There
they were, all strewn about one big front
room on the second floor at Thirty-fourth
street, gowns on one side, ana bonnets
and cloaks and stockings and boots on
the other, and there was | all alone with
the beauties except for papa, who was in
a wicked hurry and the servant that stood
at the door. Did you ever hear OF such
luck In your life?
sob. dear, no; couldn't tell what
liked best: There was peach blow satin
very low in the neck--she had lovely
shoulders ii she was 50, you know-and
pale blue silk all covered with clouds of
lace. The underclothes were as pretty
as the dresses; there was nothing but lace
and embroidery to them. And the stock
ings: l don't know but they tempted me
as much as anything there; such fine soft
silk and so eXquisItely woven. i could
have stayed there forever if papa hadn't
hurried me off. He didn't look at any
thing bu. The wigs; there were more than
a dozen of yellow ones. didn't want to
buy anything though, and didn't care
II they were TO be auctioned Oft TO rela-
tives only"
The white and gold shades of the Stew
art house, at Thirty-fourth street and
Fifth avenue, were halt raised as |
walked by on leaving the galleries. The
sight was so unusual that everv passer
stopped to be sure mis- eyes had not de-
ceived HIM. The memory of the average
a n ~ a - IN